


Ending the Rivalry: The Beginning of the End.

by poisongurl83



Series: Ending the Rivalry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Riddle at Hogwarts Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisongurl83/pseuds/poisongurl83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Was he always like this?"<br/>"No... Not exactly." She hesitated, uncertain of where or how to begin. "He loved once."<br/>Defiantly, Harry turned to face her. His features warped by confusion. He stared at her in disbelief.<br/>"Dumbledore said Voldemort never knew love."<br/>“It’s true, Harry. Voldemort cannot love. Tom Riddle, however, is another story…."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**_Hogwarts 1995_  **

|| _Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Others say in ice._

_From what I’ve tasted of desire,_

_I hold with those who favor fire. ||_ (Robert Frost)

 

It was a day of mourning, a day of death.

The embers of dawn burned the edges of the horizon, chasing away the blanketing night…leaving only shadows.

The sun ascended higher, greeting the castle’s inhabitants with fresh tears and heavy hearts. Its embers matured to flames. The sky erupted into brilliant hues of the reddest orange and the brightest yellow. 

The fire raged without mercy, scorching the last thirteen years of peace – turning innocence into ash.

Murder had returned to Hogwarts. 

The reaper’s breath laced the air with a poisonous foreboding, creating a bitter frost whose chill pierced the skin and curdled the blood.

A deafening silence saturated the gilded stone of the school’s foundation.

Fear lurked within the darkened hollows of the empty corridors. The enchanted staircases remained stationary, the portraits frozen in this most solemn hour.

Emerging from the shadows, the reaper’s concubine approached the castle grounds. 

Her violet cloak slithered amongst the grass like a serpent. Her spiked, ebony boots trampled through the muddied terrain of black earth.

Hands stained red tightly gripped her wand, her sole companion, as she confronted the forgotten memories of her youth.

Annabeth Alderish arrived home, a stranger.

Many years spent entrenched within the ever-expanding abyss of death’s enslavement had, no doubt, changed her.

Her once wavy, auburn tresses now hung cropped at her chin and glittered with specks of grey. Wrinkles adorned her sickly pale skin. Aged scars tore at her emaciated cheeks.

The sparkle behind her emerald eyes had all but faded away, revealing an unnatural vacancy. An alarming, perhaps even precarious, expression graced her worn and withered features.

Such was the price of being an auror.

“ _Today we acknowledge a really, terrible loss_ …”

With each step, she drew closer to the Great Hall while Dumbledore's voice sounded louder and louder still, churning her stomach into knots.

A shadowy silhouette stood patiently guarding its entrance.

When only inches stood between her and the students shielded behind the massive oak doors, the darkened figure gradually came into view.

Her vision connected with the onyx, vigilance of the former death eater's eyes.

His greasy hair stood immobile against the light breeze, leaving only his black, billowing robes which contrasted starkly with his sallow flesh, flapping in the wind.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Despite thirteen years, Severus Snape remained relatively untouched by time's embrace.

"You got my owl, I see."

"I came right away."

Her words were short and terse, mapping out the history of their interaction as both knew nothing more was necessary.

The two recognized within the other a kinship which could not be adequately voiced in simple speech nor understood by those outside their private alienation.

They had so much in common- both withered and hardened by the past, both seeking redemption.

"The Diggory's are burying their son today. Dumbledore's giving a memorial service to the students."

“You know what this means?”

“Indeed.”

The intentional boredom of his voice did little to hide his anxiety.  Yet, she said nothing, knowing the true weight of his burden.

A heavy silence engulfed them, drowning out the sobbing children and Dumbledore’s tragic sincerity at the Diggory boy’s loss.

“How could this have happened?”

Annabeth was uncertain as to why her voice tingled with fear.

What did she have to fear?

She had nothing left to lose.

“The tournament offered the perfect distraction.”

“Why wasn’t it canceled after the incident at the world cup?”

“Dumbledore…” Snape paused.

His tone momentarily wavered, reminding her that Severus did, after all these years, have something left to lose.

“Politics, the minister didn’t want to start a panic.”

Huff, she scoffed. “Of course, Fudge… he’s going to get us all killed one day.”

“The ministry of magic is refusing to disclose the exact nature of Diggory’s death…Dum…”

Severus’s sentence faded into the background.

Annabeth was aware that he was speaking, could visibly see his lips moving. The sound of his voice flirted with her ears, but his words escaped her.

“Annabeth.”

Her concentration wandered.

Hatred clouded her sense of reason.

Bile and revulsion swelled in her throat at the mere thought of the Ministry.  This was in many ways the Ministry’s war- an evil of its own creation.

Deep within the forbidden corners of her mind dwelled a voice which dared to utter the greatest form of blasphemy: once upon a time, Voldemort... Tom Riddle could have been saved.

No! She banished the thought.

It didn’t really matter how it all began anyway.

“Annabeth!”

The elevation of Severus’s tone startled her spiraling thoughts into focus.

She blinked away the past, remembering her reason for daring to embark upon the steps of a place which held for her only grief - a most formidable adversary indeed.

“Are you certain he’s back?”

She questioned in vain, neither answering nor acknowledging his earlier statements.

The war wasn’t over.

Annabeth knew this, had thought of nothing else since Snape’s letter, yet still it seemed as though the truth had not until this second crept beneath her skin.

 “Yes”…he stopped short. Hesitation veiled his words. His speech continued with gradual progression. “…The mark has been burning for weeks.”

“And you’re just now getting me involved,” Annabeth nearly screamed, unable to contain her enragement.

Voldemort’s destruction had been her life’s mission, her purpose for being- her salvation.

“I was hoping that it could be avoided.”

The rage boiling inside her blood instantly subsided, returning to its usual simmering sickness. After all, it was not often that Severus Snape thought of someone other than himself.

"How's the boy?"

Annabeth changed the subject, turning her attention to the only hope for their world.

"Dead, obviously."

"Not that boy."

"Oh," he paused. A sneer played upon his thinly veiled lips, his contemptuous tone reeked of poorly disguised hatred. "You mean Potter. I'm sure he's fine."

“I doubt that,” Annabeth criticized. “After Diggory’s death and C…”

“She’s not dead.” Severus stated flatly, interrupting her sentence.

A crippling sadness belied his words, exposing a weakness beneath his usual mask of apathy.

Such vulnerability caught her off guard, allowing Annabeth a glimpse behind the veil under which he hid.

 “You’re worried about her aren’t you?”

Severus said nothing, briefly turning his eyes away to avoid her emerald stare.

“How is she?” Annabeth’s concern for the girl had remained in the corner of her mind, gathering dust. 

She had planned to visit the hospital wing sometime during her visit to Hogwarts. Though in truth, Annabeth was evading thinking about the child.

She didn’t know to feel about the girl- she never did.

‘The body can heal, but the mind…” He paused, clearing his throat.

He took a deep breath as though to add clarity to the muddied emotions written in his eyes, attempting to regain his stoical composure.

“It’s too soon to be certain of anything. I suppose she’s lucky to be alive,”  He added.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to share in his burden, tried to ease his affliction. But the words seemed to lack sincerity coming from her voice. 

Compassion did not come easily to Annabeth Alderish.

"I'll alert Dumbledore to your arrival.”

And just like that the discussion had ended.

Annabeth didn’t argue.

She knew it was pointless.

Rolling her eyes, Annabeth swallowed her own embittered distaste of the headmaster, knowing full and well that avoiding Dumbledore would be impossible.

"If you must," she hesitated before finishing her sentence, her tone losing whatever gratification which lingered from Severus's presence. "We have much to discuss."

Snape gave a curt nod before turning away.

He stopped momentarily before opening the massive double doors, giving a quick glance backward to his companion of so long ago.

“It’s good to see you, Annabeth.”

“Same to you Severus,” and after what some could describe as smile broached his expression, he departed.

Yes, it was fair to say that despite his many imperfections, Annabeth had a soft spot for Severus Snape.

Left alone, from Severus’s departure, in the solitude of her thoughts, Annabeth briefly allowed her childhood memories to overcome her mask of apathy.

“ _Annie_ …”

The oxygen within her lungs evaporated, leaving her chest to rise and fall in sporadic convulsions as her younger sister’s halcyon voice assailed upon her ears.

In a nervous craze, Annabeth quickly surveyed the near distance, swirling her line of vision in all direction as she attempted to locate the source of her affliction.

She found nothing.

The corridors were empty.

No students lurked around the corners, no spirits floated amongst the breeze.

Still, the deception of her senses continued to enthrall her.

_“Annie…”_

The memory consumed her, escaping beyond the boundaries of her darkened mind.

She could vividly discern Selene’s enchanting features from the surrounding shade, her shining eyes, her raven hair, and flawless skin.

Annabeth’s senses became frozen and still, blinded by the secrets of her heart.

Time twisted reality into fragmented distortions as the conjuration of her mind took form before her very eyes.

An alighted presence seemed to sweep within the air- enveloping her, depriving her lungs of the oxygen needed.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Was it real?

Had her sister's spirit been here all along, like Juliet awaiting the return of her dark Romeo?

She moved closer to the mirage, testing the limits of her sanity.

Only mere inches separated them.

It was an immortal yearning, never to be satiated.

No matter what variation of reason attempted to prevail, her state of consciousness no longer resembled that of a rational mind.

The final step was taken, the gap between them bridged...

There was nothing, only air.

It was just a dream.

The weighted steps of youthful feet interrupted her melancholy; the students clamored out from behind the impressive oak doors of the Great Hall.

Sickly pale cheeks of all shapes over run with fresh tears greeted her line of vision.

Children of all houses filled the empty halls, exchanging shared memories and future regrets as they exhaled breathes heavy with a final goodbye.

A scrawny Ravenclaw girl hurried past her, sobbing uncontrollably.

Two thick, rounded Slytherins exchanged excited snickers as they passed her.

Following behind, the Malfoy heir trudged through the corridors. His tussled blond hair and gaunt features merely accented the fear which shown from his icy blues eyes.

Annabeth watched him longingly, forbidding her heart to dwell upon thoughts of his grandfather.

Turning away, Annabeth moved against the tide of young witches and wizards, walking closer toward the threshold of Great Hall as they departed.

Consumed by grief, the students scarcely noticed her.

It was then she saw him- the famous Harry Potter.

There was no mistaking him, but it wasn’t his unruly black hair, his mother’s haunting green eyes, or even his legendary scar which made him so recognizable.

It was his face, the expression of a lonely little boy who had seen far too much in the short days of his youth…too much pain, too much death.

Despite the two Gryffindors at his side, Harry walked alone.

He stood apart from them, beyond them.

His green eyes glistened with tears.

A fresh cut was beginning to heal above his furrowed brow.

While the other students, including the boy and girl at his side, slowly drifted toward their common rooms, Harry lingered upon the Great Hall’s threshold.

He surveyed the faces surrounding him, searching for something unknown.

In a single moment, Harry’s eyes found her own.

Green met green.

For a second, Annabeth thought he might approach her. But he didn’t move, only stared as though her presence while noticeable was of little importance.

Gradually, he turned away. Leaving his classmates behind, he walked toward the hospital wing.

Probably just worried about his friend, Annabeth thought as she watched him fade into the distance.

Entering the hall, Annabeth immediately scanned the room.

Instinctively, her eyes scoured the remaining crowd- searching for familiar faces, all possible entrances, and any threats of danger.

She found only sadness.

The Hufflepuff banners hung from the rafters. The bewitched ceiling which normally mirrored the night sky now looked as solemn as the faces of the students and staff.

Whispers of fear floated amongst the teachers whilst Dumbledore and the minister argued only a few feet in front of her. Neither of them paid her any attention; that is if they noticed her at all.

“We must act, Cornelius.”

 “There is no proof, Dumbledore.”

“A boy is dead.”

“He’s not back!”

“I implore you to see reason.”

Their argument faded into the background as Annabeth moved to a remote location against the south wall.

She ignored them, choosing instead to focus on the boy’s death rather than how the ministry chose to handle it.

Politics never was a concern for Annabeth Alderish.

The hands of the clock folded and unfolded as she reflected, barely noticing the minister’s departure.

Standing in the Great Hall, she felt for the first time the heaviness that accompanies the loss of life, particularly a young life.

Such was the reality of war… collateral damage is unavoidable.

Cedric Diggory, a boy of only seventeen, to her was just another casualty.

Such a cold thought, Annabeth mused.

Was this the price of victory, to be hard as stone?

Perhaps, the world was already damned.

“Annabeth.” 

The proximity of a voice broke her out of her misery.

A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder as she turned to face the elderly headmaster. Lost in thoughts, she had not even noticed his approach.

“Dumbledore,” she swallowed hard.

“It’s good to see you, Annie. No doubt Severus summoned you.”

"It should have been you who called me.” She spat back viscously, taking little care to conceal the venom in her tone.

“I wanted to give you peace, my dear. You’ve been fighting long enough.”

Dumbledore’s crystal blue eyes twinkled in confusion as though he were searching the very essence of her soul, invading the privacy of her thoughts, awaiting her surrender.

It was a victory he would not gain.

 “It will never be enough.”

Her glacial emerald stare penetrated the glass of his half-moon spectacles without fear or hesitation, veiling her agony behind a vacant mask of nothingness.

After years of practice, the skill of occulemency came so easy for her.

Dumbledore’s eyes softened.

“After all this time?”

“Some things never change, Dumbledore.”

The bitterness reflected within her speech surprised even that of her own mind.

He edged closer, reaching his arms outward to embrace her.

Annabeth moved away in cold denial; she wasn’t a child anymore.

 “You should exercise caution, Annie. Your hate will be the end of you.”

“Hate is all I have left, old man.”

Dumbledore gave a reluctant nod at her desolate confession.

A deafening silence invaded the air surrounding them, a silence of aged rivalries.

“The Order is ready.” He changed the subject, turning away from her hardened gaze. “I’ve arranged with Lupin and the Weasleys.”

“And Kingsley?”

“He will join us at Grimmauld Place.”

“Along with Black, I presume.”

“Severus will be departing shortly to gather information.”

“You ask too much of him.” She snorted, finding Dumbledore’s arrogance overwhelming.

 “He agreed.”

“He had no choice,” Annabeth defended, her voice heavy with anger.

“His actions are necessary.”

It was a truth that even she could not deny. The last time Voldemort gained power, their world was nearly ruined. Without Severus, they would be truly operating in the dark.

“What about the boy?”

“There’s no need to involve Harry. He’s safer not knowing.”

“Dumbledore, the prophecy!” Annabeth attempted to keep her voice low, suspicious of any onlooker who focused on their conversation.

“After everything Harry has been through, I think telling him the truth would do more harm than good.”

His voice had transformed into that of a mere whisper, a whisper heavily laced with guilt.

It was as though he knew the dire consequences which could befall from keeping the chosen one ignorant of his fate.

“No good will come from hiding the truth,” She sneered, visibly attempting to calm her spiraling emotions.

Harry Potter was their only hope and Dumbledore seemed willing to risk loosing this war in order to preserve the boy’s innocence.

The old man was, indeed, a fool.

Besides, innocence was an overrated commodity.

“I should think that you of all people would understand, given your own experiences concerning Selene and C…”

“How dare you!” Annabeth nearly screamed, horrified that he would dare mention her sister when he, himself, did nothing to save her.

In a sharp intake of oxygen's necessity, the aching pain of lonely years was buried deeper beneath the pallid exterior of her flesh.

Rage boiled in its place.

Her sullen stare evaporated, leaving a flash of crimson tainting the edge of her irises.

“Annie,” Dumbledore paused. An exhausted sigh escaped his lips. “I only meant…”

“Enough, good day Dumbledore.”

Turning on her heels, Annabeth swiftly departed- allowing the bitter sting of her tone to hang heavy in the air.

Step by step, stone by stone, she drifted through the crowded corridors.

Her breath froze within the chilly mid-morning breeze, her heart thundered beneath her chest as her feet remained glued to the stone beneath the heels of her shoes.

She had arrived whether by chance or perhaps by some unseen magnetism to the source of all her pain - the trophy room.

The room was a showcase to the history of Hogwarts.

The pictures and medals which adorned its walls were all that was left of the promising futures of forgotten students. Some whom had lived up to their potential, some whom were never heard from again.

This is where they lay in peace.

It was not a trophy room, not really.

It was a graveyard.

Gradually, she took her place amongst the headstones.

Annabeth’s mind traveled through the intangible seduction of time and space, terrifying her own barren soul as the years passed her…1991, 1986, 1979, 1958, and so on until finally, 1946.

It was there she found it, a simply portrait of a forgotten time.

There she stared upon the angelic face of her younger sister posed in her Gryffindor robes.

Selene’s warm smile and piercing silver pools caused tears to prick the corners of Annabeth’s eyes.

Indeed, Hogwarts was the only place where her sister still existed.

There were birth records, no death certificate, nothing …  her family, when they still drew breath, and the ministry had seen to that years ago.

The portrait embodied the truth of her past and her reason for fighting.

Shaking her head, she moved away from Selene’s portrait to a year before.

Annabeth Alderish stood there completely bewitched as she looked upon the reflection of her former self…Head girl, seems like a life time ago.

There she sat, adorned in her Hufflepuff robes of black and gold, posed next to her most loathsome enemy-Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A sniffling cry alerted her to the presence of another.

In mild paranoia, she spun around within a second’s passing, wand at the ready as her auror training kicked into overdrive. “Who’s there? Show yourself,” she demanded.

It was a boy, she soon realized, a student who, despite her insistent beckoning, turned gradually towards her without drawing his wand.

“It’s my fault.” Annabeth heard him whisper.

The combination of his sadness and the presence of his scar immediately moved her to lower her wand.

 After all, The Boy Who Lived had seen enough of death.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

“It’s alright,” he responded, his voice entangled with misery and guilt.

His features contorted into pain’s elusive mask. His breathing was uneven, his body rigid, his expression vacant- all signs which spoke of the imminent danger waiting for them all.

“No,” she apologized. “After everything you’ve been through, the last thing you need is another wand pointed at you - especially now.”

“It’s my fault.”  Harry repeated.

"No…” Her reassurance fell on deaf ears.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but do I know you? I saw you outside the Great Hall, but…”

“Annabeth Alderish - Auror.”

“Harry.” He walked closer, offering his hand in greeting which she politely shook.

“Do forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, but I had business to attend to.”

“Alderish.” Harry repeated, but said nothing more as he choked back a sob. “Voldemort…”

“His return demands my own.”

“Have you been to see her yet?” 

Harry’s voice was like ice scraping against her skin, cold and painful. A thin layer of accusation belied his question.

However, she wasn’t surprised.

Given the circumstances, the recognition of her last name was bound to spark such a reaction.

“No.”

Her voice crumbled under the pressure of conflicting emotions, a turbulent sea raged beneath her breast.

Though her response was laced with conviction, guilt prevented Annabeth from continuing in her own defense.

“Do you even care?”

Annabeth believed that as an auror Voldemort’s return required her immediate attention. Everything else failed to become a priority, even the girl’s health.

In truth, it disgusted her.

“It’s not that simple.”

Harry didn’t respond.

Fear, loathing, and misery battered her heart like waves descending upon the rocks. It seemed she was always crashing, always fighting.

She hated what she had become.

A grave silence veiled them as he moved to stand beside her, obviously curious to discover the source of her fascination.

Yet, Harry’s watery eyes focused not upon the ghost of her former self but instead on the portrait of her sister.

“She’s beautiful.” Harry muttered, reaching his hand out to trace the letters in Selene’s name.

Turning her head, Annabeth tried in vain to read his expression.

“Yes, she was.”

Another tear rolled down his slightly bruised cheek as he pulled away.

His gaze moved gradually towards the right.

"Is that you?" Harry questioned.

"Yes..." She whispered, waiting for his inevitable realization and the questions which would surely follow.

“You,” Harry seemed to search for the words but found nothing.

His voice transformed away from his sweet disposition and grew angrier, darker. Harry’s outstretched hand became rigidly stiff and fell limp at his side.

“You must have known … him." It was statement rather than a question, a statement which demanded answers.

"I've been fighting Voldemort for a long time Harry."

"Was he always like this?"

Annabeth’s breath quickened as his question resounded within her ears, catching her off guard.

Her mind unwound into long forgotten memories and regrets.

Should she tell him the truth?

Could she?

"No... Not exactly." She hesitated, uncertain of where or how to begin. "He loved once."

Defiantly, Harry turned to face her. His features warped by confusion. He stared at her in disbelief.

"Dumbledore said Voldemort never knew love."

“It’s true, Harry. Voldemort cannot love. Tom Riddle, however, is another story…."

 

|| _But if it had to perish twice,_  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice. || (Robert Frost)


	2. A Brave New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth Alderish explains to Harry how she first met Tom Riddle.

**_From the moment the words left Annabeth’s lips, a deafening silence veiled the trophy room. The air became so still that Annabeth could hear the sweeping motions of the moving portraits which surrounded them. Harry’s lips parted slightly as though he might give voice to the many questions which must have lingered upon his tongue. Instead, he drew in a large breath which he gulped down quickly._ **

**_“I don't understand.”_ **

**_Harry finally managed to mutter as he glanced back at Riddle’s portrait before returning her gaze. His voice was quiet, filled with anguish and confusion._ **

**_Unsure of how to answer him, Annabeth paused. “It’s complicated, Harry.”_ **

**_“But aren’t they the same? Riddle and Voldemort I mean.”_ **

**_“For a long time, I thought they were the same.” Annabeth admitted with a solemn tone. “Now, I’m not so sure.”_ **

**_“Will you tell me?” He asked quietly. Though his voice was no louder than a whimper, the pleading look in his eyes spoke volumes._ **

**_“Alright,” Annabeth relented._ **

**_“Years ago, when the first whispers of Voldemort’s power began to spread … No, I must go further back. “I was eleven years old when I first laid eyes on Tom Riddle.”_ **

~&~

King Cross 

_London 1938_

It was busy at King Cross station.

The clock had yet to strike the eleventh hour.

The bitter chill of an early breeze hung in the morning air.

The sun’s radiance streamed through the windows of painted glass, casting shadows everywhere.

The roaring thunder of the next train's arrival reverberated off the stone walls. The cracked gravel surface of the floor shook violently as closer and closer the train came.

A sea of strangers both magical and muggle alike crowded the cramped, dimly lit space of the platform- gathering, it seemed, at the gapping whole where the tracks met concrete.

It was quite a sight for young Annabeth Alderish to behold.

Though in truth, her mind scarcely lingered on the array of new sights and sounds which assailed upon her senses, choosing instead to focus on the journey ahead.

Beyond the platform, the people, and the train, a whole new life awaited her.

In just a few short minutes, everything will change.

Quietly, she walked alongside her family, clutching her little sister's hand so that the child wouldn't be swept up in the rush of people which passed them.

Unlike Selene, Annabeth's eyes remained fixated on her destination as she largely ignored the multitude of muggles which encompassed her.

Between the thicket of brown and black hats protruding into the air and the noisy clacking of heeled shoes, her eyes spotted the occasional familiarity of lavishly colored cloaks.

Those of her kind moved about awkwardly amongst the steady flow of the crowd.

Some inched about cautiously so as to avoid any possibility of catching a type of muggle disease that her mother often complained about.

Others made vain attempts to blend in, but they almost never succeeded.

Even a young girl's untrained eye could see the difference between those with magic and those without.

"Filthy muggles." Her mother's impatient, terse voice resounded in her ears. “It’s the same every year.”

Lady Alderish snapped her long, bony fingers in a gesture that suggested to Annabeth that she had better quicken her pace.

"Stay close, Annabeth."

"Yes, father."

With the weight of her trunk trailing behind her, Annabeth strengthened the grip on her sister's hand as she increased the speed of her steps, taking great care to keep her eyes centered on the ground.

"Stand up straight, Annabeth and keep your head down."

Her mother believed making eye contact with muggles to be a most disdainful offense.

To look at one directly, Annabeth had been taught, would rob her of her magical heritage.

She would be no better than her inferior, non-magical brethren- forever bringing shame upon her family.

All muggles were, in the eyes of every dignified witch and wizard, a disease to evolution.

"Yes mother," Annabeth replied obediently.

Her body moved about in odd twists and jerks so as to avoid contamination.

"Look at them, flailing about like fish out of water." Her mother sneered, her nose turned upward in disgust. "Quickly girls," she hastened their step.

Lady Alderish was a small, irritable woman who almost never allowed a smile to grace her thinly veiled lips.

Her mother's raven hair was a characteristic trait of Alderish women, but it was now peppered with patches of grey and had lost its radiant shine.

Her features were composed of sharp, pointed angles. Her neck craned above her petite body. Perhaps in her youth she had been beautiful.

Yet, now her beauty was as wrinkled as her temperament.

"Now dearest, not in front of the children."

Her father hypocritically chided, though his attitude, in truth, was no better than his wife’s as he surveyed the strangers surrounding him.

However, Lord Alderish’s voice held more warmth than her mother’s piercing hiss.  

Wrapped within the hollows of his tone was a quiet strength worthy of a gentleman. Her father’s dissatisfaction was always expressed in a lordly fashion.

Lord Alderish seemed to be the exact opposite of his wife both in physical stature and disposition. His strawberry blond curls and rounded face gave him a much more jolly appearance.

Her father's emerald eyes glistened with a kindness hat that his wife lacked.

Annabeth favored him both in physical resemblance and affection.

Standing together, her parents looked rather odd as their physical differences embodied the vast distance in their marriage.

They were nothing alike and nearly disagreed on everything. It was no secret that there was no love in their relationship.

Such was the reality of an arranged marriage which unfortunately was tradition amongst all families of her heritage.

Annabeth had no delusions that her own future husband would not be a man of her choice.

"Girls, don't dawdle. We don't want to be here longer than necessary."

Her parents instructed, reminding Annabeth of the one commonality her mother and father shared.

Both her parents wore the same sour expression as they gazed about in the crowd of muggles.

Her parents, like most pure-blood families, did little to conceal their disdain for their non-magical brethren.

Their pale, aged features slightly grimaced as they weaved through the surrounding people, taking great lengths to ensure that they didn't accidentally touch anyone.

"Annie, look at all the people. Isn't it amazing?"

Selene whispered, her bright silver eyes beaming with enthusiasm.

Consistent with their blood lineage, both she and her sister had been raised outside from the muggle world, hearing about them only in murmured whispers and select passages in books.

Now having the privilege to view them up close, Selene was obviously mesmerized by their unusual garments and strange mannerisms.

Her small head turned about wildly in all directions as though the child were trying to soak in every detail of this new, alien culture.

A glowing smile graced Selene's young face as she pulled against Annabeth's grip, trying to run toward the other children with trunks that were similar to Annabeth's.

"Don't you dare Selene!" Annabeth warned her sister.

"Might I simply say hello?” Selene pleaded, her silver pools brimming with an innocence that could only be associated with a young child.

It was an innocence that Annabeth, even at her young age, strove to protect.

Though Selene was only one year younger than herself, at times the girl felt more like her daughter.

Such was the burden of being an older sister, Annabeth supposed.

"Heavens No!” Annabeth exclaimed, shaking her head for further emphasis.

“I’m never allowed to talk to anyone. It’s not fair.” Selene pouted, scrapping her feet against the concrete while Annabeth dragged the child along.

 “Yes, your life is so difficult. However have you managed to survive thus far?”

Though sarcasm dripped from her words, she could not help but sympathize with her sister.

Her mother, being the matriarch of the family, never allowed Selene to play with other children whereas she, on the other hand, often associated with children of good breeding.

Yet, she also understood her mother's decision as her sister was the first gypsy in their family in over a hundred years.

It was too dangerous for her to socialize until Selene had developed and learned to control her allure.

 “You know, Annie, you sound more like mum everyday.”

Selene taunted, fully aware that it would spark Annabeth’s rage. Indeed, she felt the anger crawl beneath her skin.

To be her mother, the mere thought made Annabeth shudder. “Bite your tongue.”

As soon as the words left her, both girls erupted into laughter at their mutual expressions of horror. Selene nudged Annabeth’s shoulder for good measure, ensuring a truce between the two of them.

"Hold onto your sister Annabeth, and for Merlin's sake don't let her go wandering around."

"Yes, Mother."

Annabeth called ahead while turning to scowl at the child by her side.

"See, mother will have a fit if you go running about, now come on or you're going to make me late."

Moving forward to join her parents, Annabeth felt a yanking sensation in her arm as though she were again dragging dead weight.

Looking down toward Selene, she noticed her sister had stopped moving altogether and was staring off toward something to her left.

All traces of the smile that Selene had worn were gone.

In its place sadness now inhabited her silver pools.

Annabeth followed her sister's line of vision to in an effort to discover what had ruined Selene's joyous mood.

She found a boy who was sitting far removed from the crowd of people.

He was leaning against his trunk with his knees curled up to his chest.  Neither family nor friends accompanied him.

His dark hair fell in his eyes as he glanced down at the paper in his hand.

A bewildered expression resided on his handsome features.

Confusion was written in his dark eyes as they darted up to where the numbers marking the platform hung and back down to the paper.

"Can't we help him?" Selene asked innocently.

"Absolutely not! We do not talk to those types of people."

Annabeth's hesitant response had resulted from years of teaching by her mother on how to be a proper lady which included knowing when not to meddle in another's affairs.

Yet, her sister's sensitivity to his distress touched her.

She, like Selene, did want to help him but knew their parents would not approve- particularly if he was, as he appeared, a muggle-born.

"What if he misses the train?" Selene whined as she tried to drag Annabeth towards the boy.

"I'm sure someone will be along to attend to him. Anyway, it is not our business."

“But Annie…"

“Selene, you know what mother would say." Annabeth nearly screamed.

"Annabeth."  Her mother's shrill beckoning pierced her ears. A frustrated groan escaped her lips as she turned toward her mother.

“Now you’ve done it.”

"Are you sure you packed everything… all your clothes?”

"Yes mother."

"Do you have your ticket?"

"Yes, mother. I showed it to you only a moment ago."

She replied in droll voice, placing all of her attention on Lady Alderish as was always expected.

"Watch your tone, young lady."

Huff, she heard her sister scoff at her mother’s verbal lashing. Looking down, Annabeth saw Selene visibly snicker.

That wasn’t very lady like, Selene mouthed.

Annabeth quickly clamped her foot down upon her sister’s in an effort to keep her quiet.

Ow! Selene whispered.

“Stop it,” Annabeth spat back, not bothering to conceal her annoyance.

“Excuse me” Her mother glared.

“I mean…sorry mother." She apologized after elbowing her sister in the ribs.

“Rose, don’t start. Annabeth is just a bit anxious about today.”  Her father intervened, his voice slightly chiding her mother. He paused to smile, leaning down to nudge her forward. “Right?”

“Of course father.” Annabeth mockingly bowed, suppressing a giggle.

The joy in his eyes folded and curled as he winked at her. Her smile grew, stretching from dimple to dimple at their private joke.

"Well dear are you ready?"

All laughter hiding within her throat evaporated into the air.

She looked past her father to see the line of young witches and wizards that was quickly forming near an empty brick wall between the platforms of nine and ten.

All thoughts of the boy who previously occupied her attention vanished as her father's question replayed within her mind.

Was she ready?

Since the dawning of her eleventh birthday, this moment had haunted her dreams.

But standing there with only a few feet separating herself from the barrier, amidst the crowds of strangers, an unsettling realization began to take root within her heart.

Perhaps this day had come too soon.

She just didn't feel prepared for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 “I still say we should teach her ourselves.”

Annabeth barely heard her mother’s objections, too lost in her own thoughts.

“Nonsense Rose, Hogwarts is the finest school. Besides, Albus assured us that he would look after her.”

“But to be mixing with mud-bloods. I…” Her mother's sentence trailed away, jolting Annabeth away from her spiraling emotions.

Her mother’s eyes widened as though a frightening realization has just dawned.

Trepidation contorted her features.

Her skin whitened.  

In one rapid - panic-stricken movement, she swung her head fiercely around, checking all directions.

"Where's your sister?"

Annabeth's breath caught in her throat.

She didn't even realize Selene had squirmed out of her grasp.

 _Oh no_ , she thought horrified.

How could she have been so careless?

"Annabeth," Her mother screeched, "I told you to watch out for her. Is that too much too ask?"

"Now sweetheart," her father said in a calming voice as he took her mother's hand, "Everything will be alright..."

"No what if someone's taking her, what if it was a muggle, what if..."

"Mum, do calm down." Annabeth shouted, her cheeks turning a deep shade of scarlet from embarrassment at the scene her mother was making. "I think I know where she went."

Sure enough, when she turned away from her parents to look where the boy had been sitting, she saw the vague outline of her sister walking up to the young wizard.

It seemed her sister was determined to make something she had always wanted... a friend.

Rolling her eyes in frustration, Annabeth stormed over to collect her little menace and inform her of the trouble she was now in.

Only Selene could turn all of the attention on herself when it was Annabeth's big day.

Selene was kneeling down toward him, wearing a warm smile as she extended her small hand to pull him to his feet.

The boy in question simply tilted his head to look upon Selene and the hand she offered with a curious, though otherwise impassive, glance.

He rose to stand, ignoring her sister's gesture and allowed his unnatural height to tower over her.

The two children remained this way through the passing seconds, seemingly standing in silence as they continued to stare at the other.

Annabeth was still too far away to tell what, if anything, was being said.

Though she strained her ears, the noisy bustling of the incoming trains was all that she could hear.

Closer, she moved and watched as her sister reached upward to gently place a hand on the boy's shoulder while pointing to where the barrier was located.

Her sister's new acquaintance slightly twitched away from her touch as though she had somehow injured him.

His steady gaze followed the direction of her pointed finger, settling on the solitary wall placed in between platforms nine and ten.

Disbelief clouded his face.

His eyes, which Annabeth discovered to be hazel in color, remained blank.

Selene let out a small giggle in response to his reaction as she nodded in reassurance.

"Selene!" Annabeth shrieked, bemused at her sister's instant jerk towards the direction of her voice.

The moment the silver of Selene's eyes collided with Annabeth's emerald jade, her sister winced.

Her sister at least had enough good sense to know she was in trouble.

The boy turned his head again to look at Selene before grabbing his trunk and nodding in departure, a tiny hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Good luck," she heard her sister whisper as she approached them.

Selene leaned inward to take his hand in her own before he left.

The boy froze in his steps, blinking continuously at her sister's obviously unwanted action.

Before he could say or do anything, Annabeth grabbed the collar of her sister's cloak in a firm but not rough grip.

She was going to yell and lecture her sister about her apparent inability to listen but was stopped as she felt the sting of a fiery glare upon her.

The boy turned to step slightly in between Selene and herself.

His free hand was curled into a fist.

The glare in his eyes sent shivers through her skin.

"Annie," Selene complained oblivious to the boy’s rage, "do you have to be so forceful, you nearly scared me to death."

"Just be happy that it is me who found you and not mum."

She replied, keeping her eyes on the boy in front of her who seemed to be processing the information before him.

Taking a step back, his hazel orbs regained the same vacancy she had seen earlier.

He finally moved his hand from Selene's as he turned away.

"Goodbye," Selene waved him off.

He continued onward, stopping just briefly before he sprinted towards the barrier to cautiously wave back at her.

All the while the expression he wore seemed to question why he was doing such an action.

"What did I tell you about talking to strangers? Mum would be beside herself!"

"But Annie..."

"No, honestly Selene you need to listen or one day you will get into trouble that I cannot fix."

"I am sorry if I worried you Annie."

"Come on or I'm going to miss the train."

She dragged her sister back toward where both her parents were waiting.

Their once fearful expressions had transformed into a foul glare which failed to hide the fury of their anger.

"Thank Merlin, Selene have you any idea..." Lady Alderish was prepared to unleash the full capacity of her wrath.

"Not here Rosaline."

Her father defended, taking her mother’s wrist in a gentle but firm grip as he attempted to silence her temper.

While his jolly face seemed to light up at their displayed well being, the audible increase in his tone made Annabeth wince.

A strict caning often ensued whenever Lord Alderish raised his voice.

Swallowing their fear of punishment, both Annabeth and Selene bowed their heads towards their father in penance.

But Annabeth knew his anger was fueled by nothing short of fatherly concern.

Pangs of guilt stabbed at Annabeth's heart at the idea of worrying him.

Her eyelids fluttered in surrender as she awaited her reprimand.

Even Selene made not a sound, choosing instead to stare at the various cracks and holes in the concrete floor.

“Edgar, is it your intention to allow them to run about wildly?”

The moment the words left Lady Alderish’s lips, her father snapped his head instantly in her direction.

Her mother’s gaunt black eyes grew wide in response; her small stature shook violently as her father’s grip tightened around her wrist.

Instinctively, Annabeth turned her sister’s small head away, burying Selene’s rosy cheek into her shoulder.

They both knew what was coming.

“Father please…” Selene’s voice squeaked as she pleaded in vain.

Her father’s affectionate smile faltered, his lips pressed tightly together. His jovial spirit sank beneath his skin.

Within the passing of a single moment, her father was gone – replaced by a tyrant.

One could not be both father and Lord at the same time.

Lord Alderish, like most gentleman of his class, did not take well to being publically chided by his wife.

Fire danced behind his emerald stare as her mother immediately dropped her head in shame.

Women were, after-all, subservient to their masters.

The very thought was barbaric but a truth nonetheless; a truth Annabeth had learned long ago.

“It is my intention not to cause a scene.”

His words were laced with venom as she spoke. 

However, he much to Annabeth’s pleasure released his wife’s wrist; now most certainly was neither the time nor place for another one of their many feuds.

“To do so would make us no better than,” he paused, taking a moment to acknowledge the muggles all around them before continuing, “these animals.”

_Ding._

The tick of the clock reminded both her and her family of the proximity of the hour.

Indeed, only minutes separated them from the train’s departure.

Lord Alderish drew a quick breath but, thankfully, said no more.

With one last snort from her mother, the four of them bridged the remaining distance between the barrier and themselves.

_Ding._

Upon reaching the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters, time seemed to slow to a halt.

It was as though reality, itself, had been flung into a distorted purgatory. Everything around her stood frozen within the confines of a broken clock.

Annabeth’s smile and excitement was long gone by now.

She felt slightly nauseated.

A nervous anxiety crept beneath her skin, fueling the erratic beating of her heart.

Her weighted breath grew rapid.

Trembling spasms rippled throughout her youthful body, liquefying her muscles.

Shivers rushed from the base of her spine and a lump of anguish formed in her throat.

Her feet stood immobile, glued to the cracked gravel surface of the platform with her trunk and ticket in hand.

This new realm welcomed her to stay forever... but Annabeth knew she couldn't.

Although apprehension coursed through her veins, infecting her blood more with each passing second, she knew she had to go.

This was a right of passage for every witch.

If she waited for the clock to reach the end of the remaining six minutes until the train's departure then her chance would be lost.

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to overcome her childish fears of impending failure as she prepared her legs to sprint towards the layered brick.

Closing her eyes tightly in an attempt to block the sight of her body colliding roughly against the wall, she ran past the barrier and onto the hidden platform with her trunk trailing behind her.

Relief flooded through her veins, easing her frazzled nerves.

Her feet felt the mercy of the familiar cobblestone as she stared at wide eyed with a childlike wonder at the Hogwarts express.

Blackened clouds of smoke ascended from the train, but only scent of various sweets lingered within the air.

Brightly colored cloaks ranging from the palest yellow to darkest shade of ebony greeted her line of vision. Crooked witches hats and feathers of every bird jutted in the air.

Annabeth vaguely registered her sister's squeal of delight as her family followed.

Her emerald eyes were met with a view of hundreds of families all wishing their children goodbye, happily talking and smiling.

Parents told their children of last minute reminders and hugged them farewell.

"Wow," she heard her sister say breathlessly as she turned around to see her family standing behind her.

All traces of the tension between her parents had disappeared.

They joined her side; her mother rested a hand on her shoulder. Her father held tightly onto Selene as they made their way toward the train.

"Good day Tiberius." Her father exclaimed to a man they passed.

"Good day Lord Alderish. Good day girls."

"Good day sir," Annabeth replied, taking great care to afford him the proper dues.

His awkward, unkind stare unnerved her.

She wondered what she had done wrong until she realized her sister had not spoken.

Nudging Selene, Annabeth cleared her throat in an attempt to remind her sister of her manners.

"Oh good day sir." Selene muttered, her eyes too busy surveying her surroundings to properly address the man.

Annabeth let out an exhausted sigh, content that at least she remembered the rules of etiquette.

Though the man's robes clearly demonstrated a lack of family fortune and thus Annabeth deduced him to be of a lower status, she had been trained to at least give the appearance of respect.

Within civil society, the formalities must always be observed.

Roaming eyes and curious whispers followed every step her family or should she say her sister made.

This was in many ways, Selene's unveiling.

Every head turned as they passed.

"Good day, Lady Alderish." Annabeth watched one, rather plump witch nod in her father's direction.

He gave a curt nod in response.

"Where's Lord Malfoy?" Her father leaned over toward to ask her mother quietly.

"The young heir, Abraxas, is Selene's age remember darling."

"Still, the chap should have showed to see us off."

"Oh god, it is Madeline Rosier," her mother whispered disdainfully.

"Just smile, Rose. She is a pure-blood after all."

"Easy for you to say dear, you don't have to have tea with her. She's absolutely ghastly."

Despite her mother's obvious displeasure, she nevertheless greeted the woman with a forced smile. "Madeline, good to see you."

Both Annabeth and Selene curtseyed toward the woman in greetings as they had been taught. Annabeth's balance, however, wavered as a runaway toad hopped upon her shoe.

Her hand was luckily caught Selene so that she wouldn't embarrass herself and more importantly her parents.

"Careful sweet heart," her mother warned in a tone which mocked affection.

"Oooh Sorry," a young boy said as ran toward her, his hands cupped and extended to pick up his lost amphibian.

"Hello," Annabeth curtseyed when the boy approached.

"Hello," the boy stumbled as he momentarily forgot about his pet, his rounded face a brilliant shade of crimson.

Her sister had, however, been quicker than the boy; she already had the animal in her hands.

"Selene," her mother hissed, "put that down you don't where it has been or whose it is…" She stopped upon seeing the boy at a closer distance. "Hello, young Harold."

"Gree… greetings Lady Alderish." He stumbled, taking his toad away from Selene.

"Annabeth, this is Lord Abbott’s son." Her mother introduced them. "It's Harold's first year also is it not?"

"Yes, my lady." The Abbott heir spoke very politely; his manners seemed to make him a credit to his parents.

Yet, the boy, himself, seemed shy.

His voice cracked and squeaked like a wooden floor. His curly maple hair hung in his eyes which he kept glued to his feet.

"Pleasure, to meet you." Annabeth smiled in greetings as Harold gave a small bow.

"Mother…," Selene interrupted, awaiting her own introduction. It was to no avail.

"Ah hem," Her father cleared his throat, reminding Selene to hold her tongue.

Indeed, it did not do for a child to speak unless they were spoken to by an adult.

"Hello." With sympathetic eyes, Harold whispered toward her sister as his parents approached.

"Hello," her sister whispered back. Selene's sad eyes shined as she gave a small, defeated wave.

"Alderish wonderful to see you again."

Lord Abbott greeted with his wife in tow. Both of their mothers embraced, sharing knowing looks which Annabeth could not decipher.

"Abbott old chap good to see you, hope you've been well…" Their parent's chatter faded into the background.

"Are you excited?"

Annabeth asked, unsure if her parents would be willing to allow them to converse. Though her mother had introduced them, Annabeth was not certain that informal conversation would be permitted.

Neither of their parents interrupted.

Though guilt arose within her breast at leaving Selene in the silence, Annabeth could not deny her own desire to make friends.

''I, I – um, yes of course."

"Eh mate, hurry up or we'll miss all the good seats."

Both she and Harold turned in the direction of a loud, boisterous voice that was quickly coming closer toward them.

"Annabeth, this…"

"Please call me Annie

"Uh very well Annie, this is Elias Delacour."

"Pleasure, Mr. Delacour.  I am Annabeth Alderish."

Elias's grey eyes twinkled with mischief. He gave an overly elaborate bow which made her blush. "It is an honor my lady…"

"Well, I really must say goodbye to my family…"

_Ding. Ding._

The clock chimed, alerting students and family that the train's departure was steadily approaching. The gathered families scattered like rats with both students and parents alike racing toward the train.

The Abbotts turned away from her parents toward their son and wished him luck. Nodding in farewell, they left her alone to say her goodbyes.

"We'll see you on the train, Alderish." The Delacour boy called out, dragging his friend toward the compartment door.

It was time for goodbye.

Annabeth almost didn't believe it.

Her family wished her well as they wrapped her in their arms, including, to Annabeth's surprise, her mother.

After her parents released her from their embrace, Annabeth found her movement was still hindered by the small figure of her sister.

Selene was clinging to her robes as though the very essence of life would vanish if she let go.

Tears streamed down the young girl's cherub face as she looked up at her sister to beg her to stay.

"Don't go Annie, at least wait for just one more year."

Annabeth's own eyes were wet at the thought of leaving her sister.

It hadn't registered until just now that she would be separated from her tiny companion for almost a whole year.

She was going to leave her other half alone at home while she went off having adventures and making friends.

Selene would have no one to play with, no one to keep her out of trouble.

It wasn't fair.

"Oh Selene," she knelt down and lifted her sister's gaze. "I promise to write and tell you everything."

Selene bounced up, stretching her arms out so that they reached around Annabeth's neck. "Every day," she demanded. "Promise to write every day."

"I promise," and with those parting words she left her family and boarded the train.


	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth's story continues...   
> After leaving her family behind, Annabeth sets out on her journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On the train, she finds the only compartment which isn't filled and finds herself face to face with her future enemy.

"Ugh, Ugh," Annabeth coughed violently, attempting to clear her throat of the simmering smoke which lingered in her lungs from the train's engine.

She walked along the long corridor, peering into the many compartments which flickered evenly past her vision.

Screeching whimpers of the students' owls and boisterous croaking from the few toads which were present assailed upon her eardrums, rattling the entangled thoughts of fear and solitude that resided within her mind.

Furry felines of every shade raced in between her legs, impeding the forward motion of her limbs and disrupting her balance.

It took every ounce of concentration that she possessed not to trip.

Several carriages were already packed as almost everybody was comfortably seated.

The train roared to life with a thundering departure from the station and was now heading steadily towards the North.

“ _I can’t believe it’s our O.W.L. year, already_!”

One girl exclaimed in distress.

Annabeth, it seemed, was one of the only students still wandering about the corridor.

No one else seemed to be consumed by the alienation that she felt.

Everywhere she looked she saw signs of children both her own age and older branching off into their own separate groups.

Some were playing games or talking excitedly with one another, all ready to begin another year at Hogwarts.

“ _All prefects toward the front the train please_ ,” said a tall, rounded boy in glasses.

Some Gryffindors were involved in a heated argument in one compartment.

A group of Ravenclaws were reading amongst themselves in another.

Four Hufflepuffs were laughing loudly together.

Girls gossiped about boys.

Boys gossiped about spells.

Every compartment she passed seemed to be occupied with no room to share, including, much to her dismay, the compartment which seated Elias and Harold.

As she edged towards the end of the train, she began to find compartments which weren't packed to full capacity.

Yet, whenever she would approach their sliding doors, she was overwhelmed with feelings of being unwanted created by their irritable stares and hushed silence.

The year was not off to a good start.

Dreaded melancholy infected the caverns of her heart at the mere contemplation of being friendless and alone all throughout her school years.

She didn’t understand.

She was an Alderish for heaven sakes.

Stopping near another compartment, she freed her hands of her trunk and her caged owl, Kia, to wipe away the traitorous tears before one of her peers could notice her pain and tease her for it.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open yet another sliding door in hopes finding a place to rest.

Relief swept over her upon discovering the relatively empty benches inside the carriage.

Indeed, the only occupant was a boy who sat huddled in the corner where the window met the wall.

He was leaning against the glass, his eyes veiled by the loose, ebony strands of his hair.

His lanky body shivered against the cool air.

The boy’s shabby, grey trousers and jacket seemed muggle in origin. Black socks stretched up his long legs from his ankles to knees.

His dark clothing made his already fair skin seem sickeningly sallow.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?" Annabeth questioned sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't be opposed.

When the boy didn't respond, she assumed he was asleep and decided that his silent company would have to do.

Carefully, she reached inside and placed her owl on the velvet cushion of the seat opposite of the boy before pulling her baggage over the compartment’s metal threshold.

Taking her seat, she reached underneath the bench and opened her trunk, rummaging through its contents until she found a school book worth reading.

Yet, as she tried to focus on the words which greeted her eyes, a thick haze of anxiety seeped into every crevice of her mind.

All thoughts were veiled beneath her impending sorting ceremony.

A question most significant burned within her heart, consuming the essence of her soul inside its merciless flame.

Which house would she be sorted into?

She could think of no quality that she possessed which would make her placement a simple choice.

Shaking her head, she tried to free herself from her thoughts, hoping to absorb the knowledge in front of her.

But the train's steady motion made her drowsy.

A slight headache formed in the area located directly above her temples, causing her vision to swirl into a blurry mess.

Reading wasn't an option.

The ink merely bled together and what wisdom the book contained was lost upon her.

Instead, like a broken record, her memory replayed the infamous traits of the four houses as she absent-mindedly flipped through the crisp pages.

A glimmer of a smile stretched across her youthful face as she recalled her father's jovial voice singing the rhyme of the Hogwarts Sorting Hat.

" _You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart. There daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindor apart_."

Again and again the mantra repeated in her head.

She searched for some hidden message which proved that Gryffindor was where she belonged.

She wanted to lay her heart to rest in the Lion's den.

Yet, Annabeth couldn't deny the truth.

Courage was not her defining quality.

To be honest, she wasn't even sure how she was going to manage her flying lessons as the idea of heights made her extremely nervous.

" _You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal. Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil_."

No.

 The badgers were not her brethren.

As an Alderish, she had never truly worked a day in her life, and patience was a virtue that she had yet to master.

" _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind where those of wit and learning will always find their kind_."

Hmmm, Ravenclaw held promise.

A quiet day's reading had often been a luxury that she enjoyed.

Then again, doubts of her intelligence distorted the shimmer of glee at possibly discovering a home amongst other students.

Besides reading was neither her sole nor greatest pleasure.

"Or perhaps in Slytherin..."

The slight repetitive sound of fingers tapping against glass interrupted her pondering of the hat's enchanting lullaby.

Glancing upward from her book, she found that boy sitting across from her was, indeed, awake.

He stared out at the lush, green scenery of the English countryside as though completely mesmerized by its beauty.

"Oh, hello." Annabeth greeted sheepishly.

The boy remained silent, refusing to verbally acknowledge her presence.

Still, with a gradual pace that seemed to conflict with the natural progression of time, the boy turned to face her.

Her breath momentarily vanished from her lungs when her eyes met his.

Shivers printed down her spine.

Goosebumps erupted across her pale, freckled skin.

She found herself surprised to discover that he was the same boy her sister had latched onto at the train station.

Gazing into the haunting depths of his hazel pools, she finally understood why Selene upon meeting him had seemed utterly hypnotized.

Though he was just a boy of only eleven years of age, Annabeth was overwhelmed by his presence.

The chilling combination of his dark hair and eyes, his ivory skin, and gaunt features all pieced together to create a ghostly yet beautiful masterpiece.

She felt strangely drawn to him as though staring into his impassive face was like being beckoned by a siren- angelic and deadly.

"I remember you," she managed to say once her voice returned to her.

Smiling at the not so distant memory, she decided to follow her sister's gracious example.

Annabeth moved to sit beside him, hoping to chase away the lonely cloud which seemed to hover above him.

As she slid next to him, he inched a bit further away, pressing his body closer against the glass of the nearby window.

It was obvious that another's company was not something he generally enjoyed.

"Annabeth Alderish," she introduced herself, presenting him with her hand in greetings.

His eyes followed her every movement, watching her with cautious hesitance.

She felt like his steady gaze pierced her skin, staring right through her soul.

"Tom," he muttered.

Hearing Tom's voice could be compared to the sensation of silk touching the skin.

Soft and soothing, it blanketed her in false comfort but belied an unnaturally vacant tone.

A hint of a sneer played upon his lips as he stared down derisively at her friendly gesture, still cradling his left arm in his lap.

Largely ignoring her, he slowly flexed his fingers as though they had been injured by an invisible affliction.

A strange look inhabited his eyes.

Perhaps when her sister had taken his hand, she had somehow offended him with her touch.

Yet, it wasn't anger that she saw... it was something else, something unknown.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tom." She replied, again lifting her hand towards him.

He gave only a curt nod in response.

His features, however, remained blank.

Indeed, no signs of life emanated from his face- only power.

It rolled off him like sweat.

Even a child of Annabeth's age and magical immaturity could sense it, feel it, be frightened by it.

Her stomach twisted into knots.

A choking friction formed in the hollows of her throat.

Surely it wasn't normal for a young wizard of his age to be so gifted, especially not a muggle-born.

Perhaps, he originated from old blood.

Perhaps he wasn't muggle-born at all but a half-blood.

Yes, that would explain his dynamic presence and his strange garments.

"Are you native to London? Today was the first time I've ever been." She inquired as she, unconsciously, moved closer.

"Yes." Tom's answer was pointedly concise.

His dark eyes rolled in annoyance at her unwanted advance.

"You seem bit restless." She pursued, trying to make small conversation to pass the time.

"Can't imagine why." A tired sigh escaped his lips.

"Are you excited about Hogwarts?"

As she spoke, the previous traces of good cheer which resided in her voice slightly dimmed at his relatively unpleasant demeanor.

Her hand fell limp at her side in silent resignation.

She scooted her body back towards the door, leaving enough distance between Tom and herself for a third party.

Yet, still as a token of her amiable intentions, she remained on the same bench as him, facing him with an open posture that encouraged his interaction.

"That depends," he paused, stressing the syllables on his last word for added emphasis before continuing, "On how long this train ride is."

"Oh have you been on trains before? “

"Yes.”

“Do they usually tire you?"

“No.”

His line of vision dropped from hers as he lowered his head, seemingly in frustration, as his right hand reached up to massage his right temple in slow circular motions.

He appeared to have a headache.

She couldn't blame him.

The train's motion affected her own equilibrium, earlier, to the point where she thought she might be sick.

Perhaps, it was taking Tom longer to adjust.

"Then why..."

Before she could finish forming her question, the sounds of hurried feet and boisterous chatting clamored outside in the corridor.

Both Tom and she turned in curiosity toward the door upon hearing the loud rapping of knuckles echo throughout the compartment.

The sliding door opened to reveal a smiling, elderly woman pushing a large cart that was overflowing with tasty sweets.

"Anything off the trolley dears?" The woman asked, giving them a warm, toothless grin.

Annabeth, immediately, leapt to her feet.

The pumpkin juice and hot cakes she had consumed earlier for breakfast seemed a distance memory.

Reaching into the pockets of her robes, she pulled out five silver sickles, unsure of just how much she would need to appease her hearty appetite.

Heading towards the door, she stopped to give Tom a look of warm, concern.

He hadn't moved from his seat. His furrowed brow was slightly arched as her gaze met his.

"Would you like something?"

A small, almost devilish smirk graced his features at the sight of the silver in her hand, but it quickly disappeared.

Tom's expression softened, transforming into something akin to sadness as he looked between where she stood and the door.

It seemed longing had crept across his face, but he didn't voice this new sensation.

Instead, he violently jerked his head away where he again gazed out the window.

"No thank you." He replied with a politeness that seemed to sharply contrast with his removed, almost rude disposition.

Annabeth nodded and walked out into the corridor.

She elbowed her way through the other children surrounding the cart.

Annabeth bought four cauldron cakes which were her favorite, a chocolate frog that she could send to her sister, and a licorice wand to help calm her stomach nerves.

She was about to pay the woman and head back to her compartment when her thoughts reminded her of Tom.

His saddened expression touched her heart.

True, he wasn't the nicest boy, but perhaps her assumptions about his family were inaccurate.

Perhaps, he was a muggle-born and filled with uncertainty about this new world which had opened up to him.

Vividly, she could hear Selene's sweet voice in her head, telling her that perhaps the boy really was all alone.

Pulling a few more coins from her pocket, she grabbed furiously for one of every item before the others could take them.

Annabeth was use to sharing.

If she could not share with Selene; then she would share with Tom.

Returning to the compartment with her arms filled with treats, she was about to reclaim her seat beside Tom when he pointed his foot at the seat across from him, motioning for her to sit there.

She complied and took her seat, dropping everything down beside her.

"Hungry?" Tom asked with dangerously innocent tone.

He was now leisurely stretched out upon the seat.

Propping up his feet for comfort, he reached for the book she had been reading and began flipping through the pages.

"Absolutely ravenous."

"I see."

His eyes flashed with perplexing bemusement.

All traces of the sadness she had seen had vanished.

She smiled in return, welcoming this change in his temperament.

"I umm bought extra if you... umm... would umm like some." She stuttered.

Gently, placing the open book down on the seat beside him, he leaned forward to survey the goods that she had bought.

"Pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes?" He questioned with bewilderment.

After pocketing a pack of droobles and a licorice wand, he picked up a chocolate frog and began twirling in it his hand, inspecting it as though it was a puzzle.

"They're not really frogs are they?"

Annabeth couldn't suppress a small giggle at his question.

"No, of course not, but see what the card is. Every chocolate frog has a collectible card of a famous witch or wizard."

Shrugging, he unwrapped the chocolate frog, meticulously folding the paper into neat strands.

Picking up the card, he silent read the inscription. "Morgana... "

He paused as if pondering the significance of the name.

She could literally see the cogs of his mind ticking away like a clock as he thought to himself. "From the King Arthur legend?"

"Legend... good Merlin, you must be muggle-born."

The words slipped out; she didn't even have time to think about what she was saying before the phrase had left her lips.

At the slight crimson which tainted the hazel colors of his eyes, she wished she hadn't spoken so abruptly.

Darkness washed over him.

His jaw grew tight.

His hands curled into small fists at his side.

The fury of his glare made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up.

He was angry- no more like enraged.

"Muggle-born?" Tom asked slowly in a deeper, more impatient tone as though he was restraining himself.

His question belied a demanding undertone.

"It means you have non-magical parents."

Annabeth explained, her voice cracking underneath the apology which warped her words. She blinked furiously in confusion at his rapid alteration of mannerisms.

"I wouldn't know."

Tom leaned back against the padded cushion of his seat, withdrawing from her both emotionally and physically.

Despite the personal nature of his confession, his voice returned to the same hollowness demonstrated in their previous interaction.

Uncertain of what to say, Annabeth allowed an eerie silence to fill the empty space between them.

So many questions raced through her mind as she tried to guess how the boy could be unaware of his magical lineage.

Yet, she had not the courage to ask them for she knew his private affairs were not her business.

Also, the combination of his callous tone and rigid body language made it plain that he would say no more on the subject.

Instead, Tom chose to dive into the enchantment of the written word, again focusing his attention on her book as he resumed the process of skimming through the pages.

 A look of utter serenity seeped into his face as he read.

Hummm...Perhaps she was sitting with a future Ravenclaw.

Rather than encourage the lonely quiet which filled her ears, Annabeth chose to change the topic of discussion.

"So what are you reading about in **_my_** book?"

She began to wonder if he was going to give it back to her.

"The Founders."

He replied in a bored manner, scoffing at her emphasis of the word my in regards to her property.

“Oh, have you given any thought to what house you'll be in?"

She questioned, suddenly interested to see if they, indeed, shared the same anxiety over the sorting ceremony.

"No."

He replied, crushing all hopes that she would find someone else who was also uncertain about where they would belong.

"Do you have a preference?"

"Yes."

It seemed his responses had reverted back to their terse, simple nature.

"And it is..."

"For me to know."

Their conversation withered within the confines of the passing seconds.

 Tom expressed his desires to enjoy the rest of the train ride in quiet reflection while he continued to read, leaving her alone with nothing but her thoughts for company.


	4. Divided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sorting ceremony begins.

The sky began to darken, illuminating the compartment with a variety of hues ranging from the brightest pink to the darkest orange.

As the stars twinkled in the night sky, one by one the students dressed themselves in their school robes in preparation of the end of their journey.

The train slowed and came to a halt as the students clamored out of their compartments onto the small, dimly lit platform.

Students, hurriedly fixed the creases of their robes, smoothed their hair, and trampled over one another to leave the train behind.

Without saying a word, Tom tossed Annabeth her book, neatly gathered his possessions, and left her alone to find her way through the crowd.

Leaving the train was quite the adventure.

Lacking the benefits of physical maturity, she was jostled about the sea of children, pushed and pulled in all directions by those older and more prepared for another school year.

Her black robes ripped as one round, giant of a boy stepped on the trial of her cloak as he rushed passed her.

Her auburn braids swung wildly amidst the flow of others, being yanked and tugged by both cruelty and accident.

Annabeth, along with the other first years, were met by a short, plump woman who waddled toward them, holding a small lamp which provided the only illumination against the enveloping darkness.

"First years this way," she called out in a shrill voice.

They followed the woman down a winding path which was narrow and steep, causing Annabeth to repeatedly slip and stumble into the students ahead of her.

Grace of step was not a skill that she had been gifted with.

The path opened up at the edge of a beautifully dark and serene lake where the students were herded two to four at time into several about wildly.

She tried to find Harold and was beyond disappointed when she saw that he was already stepping into a boat with Elias and two other boys.

With a depressed sigh, she quickly sought out the only other person she knew.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, she fell in line behind Tom's towering stature.

Rolling his eyes at her sudden appearance, he begrudgingly helped her into a boat and they were off, smoothly gliding across the lake as though it was glass.

It wasn't long before their eyes were greeted with the enchanting sight of a vast castle which was perched atop the mountain located on the other side of the lake.

Both Tom and Annabeth held their breath at the castle's beauty.

Its many towers and turrets jutted into the starry night sky like knives piercing a velvet blanket of another world.

Its many windows sparkled beneath the fair light of the full moon.

Passing underneath a veiling curtain of entangled ivy, the boats sailed into a dark tunnel, leading them directly underneath the castle's foundation where they docked.

Trampling over rocks and pebbles, they eventually reached the evergreen damp grass as they were led across the castle grounds.

Struggling to stay beside Tom, Annabeth's little legs erupted in spasms as she tried to keep his pace- not wanting to be alone.

Walking up a flight of marble stairs, they crowded around two huge, oak doors.

It seemed so long ago that she were but a young child reading by the fireplace.

The comfort and familiarity of her home seemed a distant memory.

The experience of her journey felt so unreal that while on the train she thought might have dreamed everything, from receiving her letter to trip to King Cross station.

Annabeth stood mesmerized by the mythical fascination of the castle walls in which she now found herself.

She could no longer pretend it was all just a dream.

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

They were greeted by the half-moon spectacles of none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Annabeth nearly squealed out of sheer delight.

She had to fight the urge not to wrap herself in his red, velvet robes in a warm embrace and feel the tingly tickle prick her skin beneath the sleek hair of his silver beard.

Dumbledore smiled compassionately at the students that stood before him as he instructed them about the different houses.

After his introduction, the students followed him behind the wooden doors into a wondrously expansive room whose ceiling mirrored the splendor of the night sky.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Annabeth whispered toward Tom, who walked beside her in silence, utterly hypnotized by their surroundings.

"Yes." He panted, his voice faded as though breath had escaped him.

The room was illuminated by thousands of candles which soared within the air, high above four elongated tables where students of each house sat in waiting.

Goblets, plates, and food of all sorts adorned the problems.

Upon entering the Great Hall, several ghosts assailed upon the new students as they walked in between the divisions of the four tables.

Screams erupted from some of the girls behind Annabeth as the spirit's silver translucence and misty outline passed right through them.

Truth be told, it was quite an unsettling, frigid feeling to collide with a ghost.

"Psss Annabeth." She turned at the sound of her name, feeling a tapping on her shoulder.

Elias and Harold had made their way through the other children, coming up directly behind her.

"Excited?" Elias teased.

"Absolutely thrilled," she smiled at both of them.

"Who's your friend?" Harold asked as he cast a sideway's glance to Tom, extending his hand in friendly greetings. "Harold Abbott."

Tom merely nodded and excused himself, moving away from them as he muttered, "pleasure I'm sure."

Both Harold and Elias exchanged looks of confusion.

"Nice lad," Elias remarked.

"I think he's just a bit shy…"

Her sentence was interrupted by Dumbledore's kind voice. "

 _Quiet_! _When I call you name, you step up, I will place the hat on your head and you will be sorted_."

He instructed.

A hushed silence filled the room before the sorting hat opened its mouth and began to sing.

With despondent hesitation, the new students approached the presiding teacher's table where Dumbledore stood beside a small stool, holding a parchment scroll in one hand and a ragged, old hat in another hand.

" _Abbott, Harold_." Dumbledore called, his booming voice rising above the noisy chatter of the students.

The anxiety of Annabeth's nerves reacted in a frenzy, running shivers up her spine as a lump of anguish formed in the back of her throat.

The sorting ceremony had begun.

" **Gryffindor**!" The hat announced.

Adler bounced over to the table of classmates which occupied her new house, her expression flooded with relief.

One by one the students were summoned to approach the worn-out hat that would determine how their life at Hogwarts would be spent.

" _Alderish, Annabeth_."

Her legs wobbled, shaking uncontrollably as she approached professor Dumbledore.

Closer, she stepped toward the stool.

Time seemed to slow to a halt as apprehension seized her heart.

It was now or never.

Questions to which she couldn't hope to answer raced through her mind.

Would she have any say in the matter?

What if she did?

The notion frightened her more than having no voice at all.

She knew the course of her life was about to be permanently altered, but she was only eleven?

Once chosen there was no turning back.

Her attention momentarily darted upward to Dumbledore, as if seeking his guidance.

Yet, the usual kindness which resided in his twinkling blue eyes was nowhere to be found.

They were blank, empty.

Clearly, she was on her own.

"Ahh, an Alderish," mused the sorting hat as it was placed upon her head. "I was wondering when I'd get one of you.”

“Humm.”

The anxiety was becoming too much to bear as the mantra of the four houses again repeated in her mind until, finally, she abandoned all of her previous concerns.

She just wanted nothing more than to be to join her fellow students at the table, any table.

" **Better be, Hufflepuff**."

Her new house members rose to welcome her, clapping at the hat's decision.

Removing the hat, she moved toward the Hufflepuff table to take the closest seat available where she could watch the remainder of the sorting in peace.

With her nerves finally at ease, she watched as her peers were sorted into their separate houses, finding their belonging amongst the older students who greeted them with great applause.

Mentally, she filed away all the names she recognized so that she could describe in full detail the account to her sister.

For some students, the hat rendered its decision instantly while for others it took more time and deliberation.

The Blacks, to no great surprise, were all sorted into Slytherin.

The large majority of the first years went to either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.

Elias Delacour also found his home amongst the lions.

She waved him off, cheering his good fortune.

A young girl with bushy hair and grey eyes, Linda Lampfield, was sorted into Hufflepuff and took her seat right beside Annabeth.

She was muggle-born as Annabeth soon discovered, but she didn't care.

The girl seemed pleasant enough and the bias of parents no longer seemed to taint her judgment.

Still, as Dumbledore's list of names grew shorter by the passing seconds, there remained no sign of her train companion.

She craned her neck to look into the gradually diminishing crowd of students to find him.

She was anxious to know where he would be placed; perhaps, secretly hoping that he too would find refuge amidst the badgers.

Yet something, deep inside told her it was not to be.

 _"Riddle, Thomas_."

At first no one moved toward the stool.

The remaining first years swung their heads about in confusion as they searched for the identity of the student who had been called.

Murmured whispers began to circulate amongst them.

Perhaps Dumbledore had made a mistake.

But slowly, the children began to part ways as a tall boy from the end of the line walked toward the front of the room

It was Tom.

Unlike all the rest of the first years, his posture remained stiff, his broad shoulders square in defiance.

He walked away from those surrounding him, neither touching nor glancing at a single child who stood in his way.

Confidence consumed his every stride.

His legs failed to shake and stumble like the rest them as he approached.

Annabeth was surprised to find her heart pounding erratically as he drew near.

Her emerald eyes filled with wonder at his cool, even temper.

Reaching the stool, he gave Dumbledore a small smile.

It seemed foreign upon his features as though the expression did not belong amongst his face.

Dumbledore in response did not return the smile but indeed merely stared, not blinking even once.

A brief moment passed before Tom took his seat upon the stool where he stood opposite Dumbledore gazing into the wizard's blue eyes, almost as though he were challenging the professor.

It was strange to watch such interaction.

Dumbledore did not back down.

There they stood, teacher to student, boy to man, just staring at the other.

Finally, Tom gave Dumbledore a gracious nod and situated himself upon the stool.

After swallowing what seemed like a gulp, Dumbledore placed the hat upon his head.

Yet, before the hat could even touch the dark tresses of his hair, it bellowed out its decision.

And the boy, Annabeth now knew to be Tom Riddle, was sorted into Slytherin.


	5. The Monster Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Christmas on the way, Annabeth is overjoyed at the thought of returning home, but one night in the library will change her life forever.

**_“_ ** **_Did you know then?”_ **

**_“_ ** **_Did I know what he was? No - no one did. Tom was very quiet his first year. He excelled at his studies right away, but he kept to himself. The other students, even the Slytherins, scarcely acknowledged his presence. I can imagine it was a very lonely existence.”_ **

**_“_ ** **_You sound as though you pitied him.”_ **

**_“_ ** **_I did. In truth, I was enamored with him, until...”_ **

~&~

Monster Within

_December 1938_

Christmas was coming.

Shades of white blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts, covering the pointed towers and evergreen firs beneath several feet of snow.

Sometimes a sea of mittens and scarves were all that could be seen of the students which resided within the castle.

The Black Lake no longer bore any resemblance to its name as the water froze solid one morning in mid December.

The school had been transformed into a winter wonderland.

Jubilant enthusiasm hovered within the atmosphere upon the approaching holidays.

In their free time, girls busied themselves making snow angels while boys pelted their house rivals with snowballs.

Now, however, the sounds of erupting laughter and childish glee seemed a distant memory.

As the day gradually descended into night, students clamored behind the roaring fires of their common room after the evening feast, seeking sanctuary from the bitter wind.

Though the hour had yet to strike ten, a comfortable silence filled the corridors.

Neither teacher nor student stirred the vacant, icy passages which despite their forlorn state still encompassed the festivity of the upcoming annual Christmas celebration.

Reefs of Holly and ornaments of every color adorned each archway, pleasuring the eyes of the hall's inhabitants.

Annabeth found herself alone as she trudged reluctantly to the library in hopes of completing her transfiguration essay.

Though the assignment was due tomorrow, she had yet to even begin.

In truth, Annabeth had been so wrapped up in her other studies to even begin the necessary research.

Her lessons were much more difficult than she had anticipated.

The professors were strict, the spells taxing, and her magical abilities matured slowly.

Transfiguration seemed to be the only class which came naturally to her whereas in others she felt sufficiently inadequate.

Perhaps, she just merely needed to study more.

She shivered wildly amidst the cold as she descended a twisting staircase.

A gust of wind collided against her youthful frame, tickling her cheeks as the frost reached her skin, causing her body to erupt into a sneeze.

The sweet aroma of peppermint and cinnamon resided within the air, assailing upon her senses in a manner that she could almost taste the treats served in the Great Hall.

The faint whispers of Christmas carols continued to resound within the distance of the winter breeze, igniting soulful warmth in response to their serene melodies.

Indeed the twilight of the winter season enchanted all with its mesmerizing spell, and Annabeth was no exception.

Yet, belying the wonders of the many sights and sounds which greeted her, a twinge of sadness tugged at her heart - if only she could share this experience with her sister.

Reaching into the pockets of her robes, she opened the letter she had received from home earlier that day, believing the warmth and familiarity of its contents would comfort her during her lonely walk.

_Dearest, Annie_

_I can hardly contain my excitement upon your arrival home. I daresay I've been driving mother up the walls in my restlessness._ _Never have the days passed so slow, I was beginning to fear Christmas would never come. The manor has been so lonely since you left._

_Just think Annie, in a few short days we'll be sisters again._

_All my love, Selene_

Sisters again… the phrase echoed in her emerald eyes as she read, bleeding into her mind like ink on parchment.

A new sense of excitement, surpassing the beauty of Christmas, filled her.

She became lost in thoughts of home and family, the warm velvet of her father's armchair by the fire, the harmony of her Selene's infectious laugh, even the shrill undertone of her mother's voice, all beckoned her.

She was so absorbed in the thoughts of her manor, her home that she never heard the hurried footsteps approaching.

Suddenly two hands pounced upon her shoulders, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin in surprise. "Evening Annie," a familiar voice called from a further distance.

In one swift motion, she turned to face her attacker.

Yet, the muscles of her legs moved without caution as she directly collided with the student behind her.

Her balance swayed; she lost her footing and fell into the other student.

Luckily, she was caught before they both tumbled to the ground.

A teasing laugh reached her ears. "Graceful Annie, really."

She looked up annoyed to discover the taunting smirk of Elias Delacour.

Clutching her robes, her held her tightly with his arms outstretched to ensure that she had regained her equilibrium and thus wouldn't fall the moment he stepped away.

"Elias, was that honestly necessary?" He laughed again, but his amusement was stifled by her glare.

"Sorry, Annie, I simply couldn't resist."

"I told him to let you be," said another, more kind, voice from behind.

It was the same voice whom had politely wished her good evening, perhaps in warning of Elias's actions.

Rushing up towards where they stood, Harold Abbott waved in greetings before stopping beside Elias.

She should have guessed for wherever Elias Delacour was, Harold was never far behind; the two of them were thick as thieves.

A warm sense of comfort enveloped her the moment she met his almond eyes. Harold's quiet gentleness always had a way of putting her at ease.

Despite the fright they had given her, Annie couldn't suppress the smile which graced her features at the sight of them.

Though she barely interacted with them before coming to Hogwarts, the two boys were the only real friends she could claim- despite the separation of her houses.

Aside from her muggle-born friend, Linda, Annabeth had yet to attain any success in befriending those of her house.

The den of the badgers simply had failed to welcome her with open arms.

She was somehow different from them, always too much of one characteristic and not enough of another.

She simply didn't fit; she was an outsider amongst the colors of black and gold...but not to them.

"Harold you really should teach your friend some manners," Annabeth scolded, her emerald eyes alight with a taunting gleam.

Their conversation always flowed with a natural ease as none of them had to stand on ceremony as was mandated by the elite structure of the magical world.

It was quite an odd, unfamiliar feeling to be treated neither as child nor a lady, but as an equal.

"You simply can't teach him anything." Harold responded while playfully jabbing Elias in the ribs with his elbow.

Elias, in turn, pretended to be shocked by his friend's inconsiderate statement.

He flagrantly moved his right hand towards his chest in a mocking gesture of offense. True to his French lineage, everything was always a show for Elias Delacour.

It was that precise characteristic which made him both endearing and memorable.

"I beg your pardon, who is currently making better marks in transfiguration?"

"Your vanity never ceases to amaze me Elias." Annabeth replied in an almost serious tone.

"Besides mate that's only one class, how about the rest?"

"Oh, aside from transfiguration and flying lessons, the rest hardly matter."

Annabeth wasn't surprised at Elias's disregard for his studies, though his opinion differed dramatically from her own.

Both boys descended from a long line of quidditch players and were known for their skill in the game.

"Well aside from nearly giving me a heart attack, what are you two doing running about the castle?"

An almost wicked smile appeared on Elias's lips.

Mischief danced in his grey eyes. "Just heading back to the common room, we were in the library studying up on hexes to use against the Slytherins should they win the next quidditch game."

"He's joking of course...we" Harold quickly added as shook his head in exasperation, messing up his neatly combed chocolate - colored hair.

He was not, however, allowed to finish his explanation.

"Am not…"

"We were studying for Professor Merrythought's lecture. Elias- here wants to do better than Riddle."

The moment his name was spoken, Annabeth felt her youthful heart skip a beat.

There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't invade her thoughts, her young infatuation.

As her days at Hogwarts grew, she attained glimpses of her train companion, bittersweet moments of interaction.

Unfortunately every second in his presence was fleeting at best, and Annabeth lacked the courage to approach him for any prolonged period of time.

Mostly, he kept to himself, speaking only in class.

His impeccable sense of rationally had managed to enthrall nearly all the professors, leaving his peers to be plagued with either admiration or envy. Already, he seemed to master spells well beyond his level.

He was a mystery which had completely bewitched her… her private obsession.

"Oh, Tom Riddle, you mean?" Annabeth hoped the excitement she felt hadn't seeped into voice, especially given the sneer written on Elias's face.

"Do you know him?" Harold asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Not especially," Annabeth admitted sadly, her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Just… just that he seems very bright."

"There's something off about him," Elias scoffed, muttering something inaudible beneath his breath.

"You only don't like him because he's a Slytherin."

Harold defended, placing his hand on Elias's shoulder as if to hold him back from continuing the argument which undoubtedly would have unfolded.

Harold must have sensed her discomfort upon Elias's venomous tone.

"As you should too Abbott, we're Gryffindors it's only natural after all. Besides we can't allow those filthy snakes to beat us."

Annabeth rolled her eyes in response. "Why is this competition so important?"

The aged rivalry between that of the serpent and the lion was possibly as old as Hogwarts.

There were rumors that it stretched all the way back to the original founders themselves. To Annabeth, it seemed absurd but perhaps that was because she belonged to neither house.

To Elias and even to Harold, though he would never admit to it, the rivalry was an essential part of their house identity.

"It's tradition, the best against the best." Pride emanated from Harold's voice as he attempted to explain.

His poorly masked air of supremacy enraged her.

"All houses have their equal strengths and weaknesses." Annabeth corrected.

"Careful mate, I think we're provoking her Hufflepuff wrath."

"Keep talking Elias and I will show you why Hufflepuffs are not meant to be toiled with."

"Why Miss Alderish that does not sound very lady-like of you." Elias replied, subtly reminding Annabeth of her duties as future Lady Alderish where such impropriety would be unbecoming of her.

Indeed, her mother would have a fit if she heard the manner in which her prim and proper daughter was now speaking.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to rid herself of the breeding in which she had been raised, embracing the freedom and equality that Hogwarts provided.

"I'm at Hogwarts, Elias, where I don't have to act like a lady."

Both boys smiled in response, conveying a sense of understanding which could only be shared by those of pure-blood heritage.

Only the future lord and ladies of the magical world could know the pressures to which they were all subjected.

It wasn't easy meeting the standards of all the generations that came before.

If anything, it was maddening.

"Well I'm off to Gryffindor Tower before one of the prefects catch me lingering in the corridors, goodnight Annie…."

Elias paused before walking away as if he without looking knew that his other half had stayed behind. The two of them were so very attuned to the other. "You coming mate?"

"Actually, I-I..um..." Harold stammered as he nervously glanced into Annabeth eyes of emerald jade, a deep shade of crimson crept underneath his cheeks. "Of course goodnight Annie."

"Goodnight Elias, goodnight Harold." She waved them off, continuing toward her destination.

An eerie sensation crept beneath her skin as she wandered deeper into the castle’s twisting corridors.

Annabeth listened keenly for the scuffle of hallowed steps or the swoosh of a cloak’s fabric colliding against the marble floor in the event that a teacher might be near.

It was a serious offense, indeed, to be caught out of bed after hours.

She didn’t want to lose points for her house; after all her performance in potions class took care of that all on its own.

Happily, the only sound to grace her ears was that of the casual bickering between the portraits which lined the halls.

After a near miss with the school’s caretaker, she finally arrived at the double archway entrance where the secrets of the magical world rested.

Twisting the knob, the door opened with a sharp creak.

Contrary to the festive decorations of the castle’s halls, the library was dark and desolate.

The dim flicker of the candlelight cast shadows everywhere.

Shelves of books towered over her like giants. The smell of aging parchment hovered within the air. Free floating clouds of dust seized her lungs, forcing pressure to build within her chest.

She coughed violently to clear her throat, her eyes searching frantically for any signs of life.

Annabeth found nothing, not even Madame Viola, the rather insufferable librarian.

“Is anyone here,” her voice squeaked in anxiety as she slowly browsed through the stacks, moving from subject to subject- book- to book.

She didn’t know why she asked, knowing full and well that should the librarian or anyone else catch her, she would be sent back to her common room and her transfiguration essay would go unfinished.

Using the enchanted step ladder, Annabeth reached up to pluck Milford’s Guide to Fowls and Goblets but her arm was just shy of the distance that she needed. 

She moved her right foot a step forward, placing all her weight on the tips of her toes.

As Annabeth’s fingers stroked at the book’s binding, her ankle gave way.  The tension in her muscles gathered, twisting into knots. 

Her balance wavered, failing prey to gravity’s magnetism.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she fell headlong into the floor. The impact of her body colliding against the stone resounded with a small thud.

The sound barely managed to echo against the loud silence as, luckily, she only fell five steps down.

After a brief second of disorientation, she regained her footing- cursing her clumsy nature.

A drawn out groan escaped her lips. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet at her displayed clumsiness despite the absence of another presence.

She dusted off her robes, tucked her button-down shirt back into her skirt, and attempted to smooth the frayed hairs that were now loose from her auburn braids.

“Brilliant,” Annabeth muttered to herself. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Thankful to be alone, she trudged toward a table in the south corner in hopes that if the librarian returned she wouldn’t be discovered.

“…N…S-P…” As she walked, the sound of muffled voices assailed upon her ears. But she couldn’t understand the conversation.

Swinging her head wildly in all directions, she surveyed the room to find the source of the noise.

Her efforts were in vain.

Annabeth delved deeper into the library, wandering aimlessly towards the restricted section. Whether her actions were motivated by curiosity or the desperate need to escape her essay, she wasn’t sure.

The bitter wind rattled against the windows.

The floor creaked beneath the weight of her steps.

Thick cobwebs obscured her path.  Her arms flailed frantically to keep the silky thread from clawing at her face and hair.

The intensity of the shadows grew, engulfing the walls with their monstrous shapes.

Squinting her eyes, her line of vision was met with the dim glow of a single lantern at the far corner toward her left.  The vague outline of two figures could be seen.

Fear darkened the hollows of her mind; her skin crawled in anticipation as the light glowed brighter with every step.

The silhouettes gradually changed before her eyes; the shapeless blurs sharpened and took form. Flashes of green and blue reached her emerald stare. It was two students, but the distance between her and them was still too great.

She couldn’t see their faces.

“I want that book.”

This time the words resounded with more clarity, but the voice which spoke them sent shivers rushing from the base of her spine.

Hidden inside the voice was a darkness, unlike anything she had ever heard…as if it wasn’t even human.

“You’ll have to wait your turn, “another, gentler voice responded.

Suddenly, the weak light of the lantern vanished without warning, effectively extinguishing the warmth which radiated from his flame.

The stale air grew colder.

The blanketing night assaulted Annabeth’s eyes, burning her emerald pools under the strain of adjustment.

A loud crash reverberated off the walls, causing a small gasp to escape her lips as her knees nearly buckled out of fright.

Her shrimp-like limbs stood momentarily immobile as she swallowed the embittered taste of horror which had arisen inside the hollows of her throat.

She shouldn’t be here, she told herself.

It was wrong to meddle, undignified even – that’s what her mother would say.

She should turn back.

Yet still, as though being pulled by an unknown force, her legs continued to move forward.

Tip-toeing ever so slightly, she crept closer toward the figures, keeping her small body aligned against the book shelves to avoid detection.

Gradually, her sight improved.

BEAT…BEAT… BEAT, the thundering rhythm of her heart pounded with frantic acceleration as a sticky paste of sweat saturated her skin.

Just as she reached the edge of the book shelve and peaked her head around the corner, she heard a scream.

Annabeth froze within her steps; the danger thickened within the air.

“Please no…”

The pleas were immediately silenced, replaced instead by stifled groans of agony.  The guttural sounds of a person struggling for breath curdled the blood within her veins, but the dark still made it difficult to see.

 “Lumos.”

It was that voice again, a most inhuman voice; a silver streak of light erupted from the speaker’s wand, illuminating the small space surrounding the two students.

As the light spread against the darkness, Annabeth’s flesh altered from its natural rosy hue to a shade of ghostly white.

A boy from Ravenclaw house was suspended mid air, hanging upside down.

Enlarged puss filled pockets crawled up the surface of his skin from his hand towards his neck, spreading like wildfire until the contagion had corrupted the entirety of his flesh.

Immediately, her hands rose to her lips, gripping her mouth with forceful determination in hopes of suppressing the scream that clawed its way up her throat and threatened to escape.

Try as she might, she couldn’t turn away from the sight before her.

The boils oozed and gushed; blood cascaded down his face which was contorted into a horrified expression, dripping from his forehead toward the floor. The boy’s jaw twisted in an unnatural angle. 

In his petrified state, he bore little resemblance to a child.

The boy’s bobbed his head repeatedly, gasping for air.

He was trying to scream but to no avail. His moth opened; his lips moved, but the only sound which could be heard was a sinister laugh.

It was only then that her mind, clouded as it was with blatant horror, was able to process the identity of the other student.

Her pupils dilated wide with terror at the realization that it was Tom holding the wand.

A malevolent smirk played upon his lips as his free hand stroked the book on the table - his personal trophy.

The vicious glare that haunted Tom’s expression, revealed his pleasant demeanor for the charade that it was, a thin covering for the monster lurking within.

Everything, it seemed, slowed to a halt.

Time had no meaning.

Innocence turned to ash as she confronted true evil.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, falling down her freckled cheek.

_How?_

_Why?_

 Her mind raced with question, questions she was too afraid to ask.

Sporadic convulsions heaved her chest in unsteady cycles of rising and falling.

Yet, the intake of oxygen seemed to gradually diminish with each quickened breath, receding until her lungs burned with gasping necessity.

Aggressive tremors shook her frightened form.

Feebly, her hands tried to reach for her wand but all knowledge of every spell that she had learned drained from her consciousness.

Her mind went blank.

She was, after all, only a little girl.

Tom moved closer towards his victim at a pace which seemed to defy explanation, looking very much like a spider spinning his web around a fly.

Her mouth cracked ever so slightly in an attempt to call out for help but the words wouldn't come. The paralyzing affliction of dread spread throughout her body, rendering her helpless.

She didn’t know what to do; her feet felt glued to the floor.

Fear infected every fiber of her being, remaining a pox and poison on her youthful soul.

The youthful spark burning beneath her breast dimmed; the very essence of her childhood faded.

She felt death’s cold breath on the back of her neck as though she, herself, was staring into the abyss and the abyss stared back.

Summoning up the courage from a source unknown, a source which dwelled within, Annabeth managed to move her right foot forward ever so slightly.

But the tremor of her muscles threatened her balance and again she fell. Her bones and flesh scraped against the marble stone.

Yet, the pain of the impact hardly registered as the dread of being caught was much greater. Pushing a gulp deeper down her throat, as she slowly raised her head, hoping desperately that her presence went unnoticed.

She hoped in vain.

With a sharp turn of his head, Tom’s vision collided with her own; the rich hazel of his eyes was tainted by a deep crimson shade.

In the moment that green met red, Annabeth’s heart stopped…


	6. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth must deal with the consequences of her silence.

Nightmares

 

Annabeth awoke in darkness… it surrounded her, engulfed her.

Her dulled senses found nothing of recognition, just cold emptiness that slashed through her core. Waves of imbalance and uncertainty overcame her. Her limbs spiraled in odd contortions. Her breath choked back a rotten sensation that lingered on her tongue. A smell most foul encompassed the void.

Time had no meaning.

Annabeth felt nothing and everything at the same time. She was falling headlong into a whirlwind of fear and desolation; yet, she was stationary. Her being, it seemed, had become a strange entanglement of contradictions. Up was down, left was right. Sense and sanity had abandoned her.

Then, she hit a wall.

It felt like flesh grinding against concrete. Something hidden, something just shy of the naked eye forced her downward beneath the weight of shadows. They were pulling at her, laughing at her…slowly picking her apart piece by piece. 

The pain was excruciating.

Suddenly, the memories came and the void changed- peeling away the dark.

Flashes of images both familiar and despondent cascaded through her, searing with sharp color and reverberating sound.

It began with the end, and the end looked like death.

Blood soaked her skin, cascading down her fingers- dripping off her wand.  A sticky paste swarmed her shoes, gluing her feet to the floor. The boy’s body lay sprawled before her.

Horror belied her emerald pools, but she didn’t blink, didn’t take her eyes away from her victim. The disheveled appearance of his sapphire robes revealed his skin to be tainted with bulging pustules.

The pallid surface of his flesh altered into varying shades of coal black and deep purple. The boy’s sunken eyes were sewn shut, his jaw line unhinged. The muscles in his pale face contorted, engraving his features with a terrified expression.

Her limbs were immobile, paralyzed not, it seemed, by fear but by apathy.

She stood like a ghost, staring into the eyes of the reaper for the first time as though awaiting the chill of his embrace, leaving her childhood behind forever.

Out of the ether, a voice sounded. “You did this.”

“I didn’t… it wasn’t me,” she whimpered, but to no avail.

The voice was not satisfied.

“You did this.”

It came from everywhere and nowhere; it was the boy’s voice. His eyes shot open, propelled by some unknown force. 

 _No,_ she thought.

Blood and fluids clouded his blackened irises so that they scarcely resembled anything approaching human. His lips remained sealed, his jaw firmly set, but the accusations continued.

“It’s your fault.”

Annabeth gasped in response.

What had she done?

The swirling images altered, caving in at the seams. Colors folded and unfolded; shapes dwindled into blurred outlines before once again taking form. The veil lifted, and the haze clouding her eyes cleared.

The harsh white of the bed sheets blinded her as the memory consumed her.

The stale air of the hospital wing seized her lungs.

Staring down at the boy, the metallic smell of dried blood churned her stomach into knots. Nausea rose within the hollows of her throat, threatening to escape her lips. Tears cascaded down her cheeks at the sight of his scarred flesh. Puss filled pockets decorated his skin in its entirety, oozing various fluids as the boils continued to bubble and pop.

Shivers rushed from the base of her spine; her lips quivered as she watched the yellow infection drip down his hands onto the sheets which covered him.

Gah, she heaved, forcing her breakfast back into the pit of her stomach.

Despite the healing efforts of Madame Sinclair, the boy’s condition remained relatively unchanged since the morning he was discovered. 

The whole school was in an uproar. Murmured whispers spread amongst the students like wildfire, ruining the frivolity of the Christmas season.

Morbid curiosity motivated the gawking stares of her peers. One by one they visited to bear witness to the boy’s misfortune, staying only long enough for the taste of death to tickle their tongues.

It sickened her…but was she truly any different?

The boy, himself, was a stranger to her; she did not even know his name. 

Yet, as each day passed she continued to visit him. Guilt, it seemed was a most formidable adversary and would not be easily conquered.

A gentle hand fell upon her shoulder as she turned to face the fatherly transfiguration teacher. Lost in thoughts, she had not even noticed his approach.

“Back again, Annie?”

Looking up at him, she attempted to blink away the tears from her glistening eyes. Opening her mouth to speak, words left her. The dry air scratched the ruff surface of her throat. A red sickness tainted the color of her cheeks.

She could only give a feeble nod in response.

“Tis touching, of course. Though, I should warn you, Annie. It is not wise to linger. This is not a sight that I should want innocent eyes to carry with them.”

 _Innocent_ , the word echoed within the darkened hallows of her mind… _innocent_ , something she would never be again.

“W-i-l-l,” she stammered, pausing to clear her throat. “Will he be alright, professor?”

“Perhaps, dear girl. Perhaps. Madame Sinclair is doing everything she can. But I’m afraid we do not yet know the cause of the boy’s condition.”

“No one,” she gulped; panic laced the tone of her voice. “…knows what happened?”

He shook his head, watching her closely. Sweat saturated her skin; her breathing became sporadic as she jerked her emerald stare away in dread.

Lowering his line of vision, Dumbledore peered over the rim of his half moon spectacles to cast a rather curious glance at her – causing her heart to beat erratically.

“Annie,” he spoke quietly. Reaching his hand slowly towards her chin, he turned head so that she was once again facing him. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

Dumbledore’s crystal blue eyes twinkled in confusion as though he were searching the very essence of her soul, awaiting her surrender.

The air froze within her lungs as his question clouded her mind.

She didn’t know what to do; she couldn’t tell him what she had seen that night.

The horror of the boy's suffering, his agonizing screams, and Tom’s maniacal laugh still haunted her dreams. She had stared into true evil and it had stared back, threatening to swallow her whole.

There was only one option.

With a hesitant turn of her head, Annabeth did something she had never done before - she lied.

“No sir, nothing.”

Sometimes a lie is easier than the truth.

As the words left her lips, the sapphire hue of Dumbledore’s eyes slowly drained.  The gentle image of his features shook violently, falling away into nothingness. The blinding, harsh coloring of the hospital wing faded into the ether. A seeping darkness corrupted the memory, shattering the familiarity of the castle walls as the ground beneath her feet vanished.

Gravity abandoned her; she fell headlong into a whirlwind of shadows. White hot pain rippled through her body accompanied by a coldness which crept beneath her skin.

Annabeth tried to move, tried to fight the weight of the blanketing night, but it was in vain.

The pain only increased.

She prayed to be released.

She prayed for deliverance.

Nothing came, only blackness- it swallowed her agony in its howling abyss. She succumbed with gratitude, expecting death to take her, expecting to be free.

But she did not die.

Again, she hit a wall…but this was different than before.

Everything felt more real, her mind more lucid. Gravity’s magnetism returned to embrace her as the shadows slowly dissipated and the memory unwound.

Her head slammed against the marble surface of the castle walls.

The impact of the collision twisted her limbs and tore at her flesh. The rigid stone scraped roughly against her spine. A warm, sticky liquid mixed with the saturation of sweat coated her face and clothes. The taste in her mouth was fiercely metallic.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Her efforts were thwarted by an unknown force, something just shy of the naked eye, held her firmly within her place. She could feel the pressure of a hand against her throat, feel the heat of skin against skin.

Yet, the identity of her attacker remained elusive, a mere silhouette towering above her.

She didn’t understand.

Questions raced within caverns of her mind… questions and something else, something poisonous – fear.

Yes, fear, her skin was heavy with it.

Gradually, her sight adjusted to reveal the dank, darkened hollows of the dungeons.  The disorientation that clouded her mind cleared.

Crimson orbs shined at her against the thick darkness, coming closer and closer still. The blurred outline of her attacker altered, transforming before her eyes.

Horror sank beneath the sticky surface of her skin at the recognition of the Slytherin colors of emerald and silver.

“Ah,” she gasped, twisting within the monster’s claws. His grip around her throat tightened; his nails dug into her neck.

She tried to scream, but it was in vain.

Her lungs burned at the loss of oxygen, heaving her chest in uneven cycles of rising and falling. Sporadic convulsions seized her heart which pounded with erratic acceleration; spasms of pain gripped her nerves.

“No, pl-eas-e st-op.” she choked against the sobs building in her throat, barely managing push the words beyond the threshold of her lips.

A deep, sinister laugh remained her only response; its guttural sound slashed against the deafening silence of the abandoned corridor.

He mocked her, taunted her.

“If you breathe a word of this…” He leaned closer; his breath tickled her ear.

“I- I-w-on-t, I swear.” She pleaded. 

“It will be our little secret.”

 _Secret - secret – secret_ …

The word echoed within the hollows of her memory and the darkness returned.


End file.
